


Worst Idea

by merrythoughts, ReallyMissCoffee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Time, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-Episode: s05e10 Abandon All Hope..., Roleplay Logs, Top Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 06:00:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16886955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrythoughts/pseuds/merrythoughts, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReallyMissCoffee/pseuds/ReallyMissCoffee
Summary: "Tell me I can," he says tightly, but there's a waver to his voice. Desperation. "Say yes."





	Worst Idea

**Author's Note:**

> Written last year, found and edited this afternoon! 
> 
> Horray for sad smutty angst!
> 
>  **Disclaimer** : This is another merryhoughts & ReallyMissCoffee production. In case you don't know us, just a heads up: this is written first and foremost as an alternating roleplay between us which doesn't necessarily translate smoothly into an easily digestible or traditional fic format. At times we can be pretentious, repetitive and annoyingly wordy, but we're not going to change so please forgo any "constructive criticism" regarding the format. We are choosing to share our work and if you like it, you like it, if not, press the back button and try something else as we have no interest in attempting to fic-ify our stories.

Undoubtedly, this a bad idea... but Dean... Dean looks lost. Dean is reaching out to him. Castiel knows humans find comfort in touch. Castiel is not as naive as Dean may think at times. He knows Dean is seeking sexual pleasure from him. He looks at Dean who is near the bed, his hand clutching onto a beige trenchcoat.

Dean won't meet his eyes.

Castiel doesn't leave. He doesn't vanish. He turns slightly toward Dean and he rests his hand on Dean's shoulder. It's still in the realm of the familiar. It's still not too late to turn back, but Castiel must know before he continues.

"You wish us to be intimate, Dean?" His voice is hushed. The words and implication should feel stranger and yet they don't. Dean has always confounded him, but all Castiel knows is that Dean is in his charge and he wishes to not look at this pale reflection. He wants Dean to be at peace.

* * *

It's too much. It's always been too fucking much but now the weight of it all is suffocating. There's a pit in his stomach that's been growing there since Alistair, since Castiel pulled him from Hell, since _going_ to Hell... hell, maybe since the moment he fucked the rest of Sam's life and came to get him at Stanford. Hunting can't fill it. Sam and Bobby's reassurances can't. Alcohol can't. It's growing bigger, gnawing dark and crippling, and Dean wishes it had a physical form so he could have something to fucking hunt. But it doesn't, so he can't.

This is the worst idea he's ever had. It's bad enough he's dragged Cas into this in the first place. It's bad enough that he's brought a goddamned angel down to his level, stinking and rolling in the mud of humanity, scrambling for purchase. But it doesn't stop Dean from reaching out. It doesn't stop the tight nod he gives at Castiel's question.

And it doesn't stop the way Dean twists on the motel bed, or the way he keeps his eyes downcast. Like he hasn't done enough to Cas in the long run. Corrupting an angel... he wonders what Sam would say if he knew. The twist inside is vicious and Dean draws a deep breath before he fights past it and reaches out. He sets a hand on Castiel's chest, feeling the heat through his shirt. Then he closes his eyes and pushes, leaning in as he goes.

He doesn't kiss him. Instead Dean moves to lay him back on the bed, braced above him on his hands and knees.

"Tell me I can," he says tightly, but there's a waver to his voice. Desperation. "Say yes."

* * *

Castiel sees the turmoil rife within Dean. The haunted eyes, the anguish kept underneath his skin. It's Dean's very own war -- one that Castiel can _see_ , but doesn't know how to fight or even if he _can_. He's... a soldier. He fights no matter the odds. He'd made the decision to bring down the wrath of an Archangel upon himself to try and help Dean. What wouldn't he do for this one man, this one human?

It's a daunting question that doesn't merit consideration. At least not right now. Not when Dean is reaching out yet again, his warm hand on his chest, a curious sensation. Dean has clapped him on the shoulder, but this is closer to where the human heart would be.

Despite Dean leaning in, there is no meeting of their mouths, no kiss. Castiel is slightly perplexed but he goes along willingly to the bed, laying down with Dean on top of him. They're both clothed, he more than Dean. Castiel knows they should be wearing significantly less clothing, but he makes no move. Not yet. Explicit permission is important.

It seems Dean is looking for the same thing. Castiel doesn't reply immediately, merely looking up at Dean. He senses no overwhelming sense of lust from Dean, no frenzy of hormonal reactions. There is... sadness, but perhaps he can help in this way. He will try.

"Yes," Castiel finally replies. "Yes, _we_ can." Even Castiel knows that this is about both of them, not one perpetrator and one simply allowing this. His hand reaches out to cup Dean's face and Castiel finds that he prefers this touch to the more casual touches they've shared in the past. "I've... felt drawn to you for some time now." The words slip out, but now feels like an appropriate time for such a confession.

* * *

Even as Castiel lays down on the bed and allows Dean over him, Dean tries to remind himself how it's all wrong. There's no curves, no soft, delicate hands, no curvy hips and thighs or smooth legs to hook just so around his hips and draw him in. He tries to drive it home, that this is desperation, that Cas is _offering_ and that this isn't what he wants, but there's a twisting feeling in his chest that tells him he's wrong. Bullshit protests, just like always. This is wrong, but it doesn't feel wrong.

Right now, Dean thinks he'd give _anything_ to not feel wrong for once in his miserable life.

So when Cas gives in, Dean's already moving. He looks at the buttons on Castiel's shirt so he's not tempted to do something stupid. So he's not tempted to kiss him. His lips look as chapped as they always have, but they look so fucking soft. (Of course he's looked. God - or whoever's really out there - help him, he's looked.) The urge to kiss him is there but Dean shoves it away as his hands fumble quick and artlessly over Cas' buttons. He's got the shirt halfway open - never say Dean Winchester doesn't dive right in - when Cas continues, but it's enough to make him go still immediately.

Dean tenses like he's been shocked. Panic blooms sharp and crushing in his chest and fuck, _fuck_ he's such a piece of shit for this, but he can't. He can't right now. So he doesn't. Instead he leans back on his heels and shrugs out of his plaid button-down and then nearly tears his shirt off underneath. The amulet underneath flops about on his chest until Dean removes it, tucking it away in the pocket of his jeans. Then he leans down, moving in close.

"Bite me," he grunts, and one hand moves behind Cas' head, curling in short dark hair. "C'mon, man. Anywhere you want."

 _Just as long as you stop talking_ is left unsaid.

* * *

Gender matters very little to Castiel, as he's always been captivated by Dean's soul (although he is aware of the fear that some humans have toward same-gendered love, he doesn't understand it). The more pressing issue is that he's fairly certain, even without being told directly, that angels are _not_ to lie with humans. The threat of the apocalypse had angels walking among the humans, but it wasn't for this. Nevertheless, Castiel is steadfast. He will try to help Dean in this. He will reach back.

He barely registers the flurry of Dean's hands scrambling at buttons. The clothes don't seem as important now, but they are to Dean. Castiel knows his words have displeased Dean. He sees the displeasure, he _feels_ Dean tense. He doesn't understand the problem, for it was the truth and... And Castiel does not believe it to be a one-sided truth. Dean is living this truth with him, right now.

But perhaps Dean doesn't wish to look at this truth. This is what Castiel concludes as Dean ignores his statement in favor of removing his shirt. Castiel marvels at Dean above him. He can see _his_ hand on Dean's shoulder, the tattoo, the contour of smooth muscle. Dean is a beautiful creature and Castiel has the strange ache to put this to words and express it to Dean but he remembers the last truth he'd shared moments ago. Dean is not receptive to such--

Castiel is distracted by Dean leaning in, pressing in close. Closer. Dean's hand is in his hair, but still no kiss. There's a command though. And there's a tone of desperation he can make out. Castiel thinks he knows what Dean wants now. (Is it what Dean _needs_?)

"Yes," Castiel says. "I'll do what you command."

Without further ado, he cants his head up and bites on Dean's neck. It's a little harder than a nip, but not hard enough to draw blood (they'd both witnessed Sam drinking at a demon's neck before). Castiel's arms wrap around Dean's back. He bites a few inches over, but now that he can, Castiel soothes the bites with kisses. He's ardent in his actions, his mouth firm as he explores the column of Dean's throat.

* * *

There are no words in any tongue to properly outline just what a piece of shit Dean is. He could ask Cas. Cas would know if there were any words for it, but Dean doesn't ask because he doesn't want to hear it. He knows it. He doesn't have to hear it too. Only a piece of shit would do this; only he would use his own desperation and corrupt Castiel like this. Even as Dean asks and even as Cas leans up to seal his teeth against Dean's neck, Dean knows Cas deserves better than this.

Castiel's a virgin. Sure, maybe it doesn't really matter. It's the fucking Apocalypse, who cares? Well... Dean, apparently. This isn't how Cas' first time should go. It shouldn't be with _him_. It shouldn't be with a man. And it sure as fuck shouldn't be like this, artless, clumsy, laid out in a cheap fucking motel that smells like Febreeze and cigarette smoke, with off-puce carpet and checkers on the curtains. Dean grits his teeth as Cas' teeth and lips trail over his neck, delicate, careful, because _that_ is what Cas deserves. He deserves to be cherished, deserves a connection, not some lowlife who can't even get out of his own head long enough to think about more than himself.

But that's not what Cas has now, and it's not what Dean can give. The sound he makes when Castiel wraps his arms around him is choked and Dean's jaw twitches as he clenches it. Fuck, he can't do this, but he needs it. If he doesn't have this - doesn't have something - he doesn't know what he'll do. So he lets himself groan. He buries his fingers in Cas' hair and wonders if it feels muted through a vessel or if Cas can feel this legitimately. He shudders at each bite and when he reaches between them again, he fumbles the rest of Cas' buttons open and slides his hand inside of his shirt, palm rough with calluses over warm, smooth skin.

Dean thinks of Jimmy and wonders briefly what he'd think of this. Nice Christian boy having his body used like this... The thought is vicious and Dean curses it back as he pulls at Cas' shirt. He's still got his trenchcoat and suit jacket on, but Dean wants it off now.

"It's just you in there, right?" Dean asks roughly. It's fucked, but he needs to know. "Jimmy, he's... gone?"

* * *

Castiel has no special reservations or concerns with the construct of his virginity. While Dean struggles with the notion of corruption and how things ought to be, Castiel breathes Dean in. Dean has his own unique scent, something spicy, even discounting the deodorant and aftershave. He holds to him tightly, taking in Dean's warmth, how solid he is... How fragile he is.

Castiel _could_ crush him. Even with all of Dean's impressive strength and will, Dean is only human. Castiel could hurt him. Could kill Dean Winchester easily (far too easily). He won't, though. He would _never_. The very idea feels like a pollution in his mind.

So unlike Dean's hand that has found his way inside his shirt. Dean's touch is firm and Castiel has never particularly _enjoyed_ physical contact, save for the brief contact with Dean, but this is _new_. This is skin on skin. Dean's hand on his chest, Castiel's mouth on Dean's throat. He likes this. It's a physical sensation, yes, but there's also something _more_.

But then Dean is suddenly inquiring on Jimmy Novak and Castiel falters. He stops his exploration of Dean's throat.

"Jimmy is gone. He's in Heaven now. This form is my own," Castiel answers. Now doesn't feel like the suitable time to go into details, so Castiel does not launch into any. He does notice that Dean is interested in removing more clothing, so Castiel aids this process, using his powers to remove the main articles of remaining clothing: Dean's jeans, socks and boots. His trench coat, suit jacket, shirt, tie, pants, socks and shoes also vanish. Two distinct piles of clothing appear on the floor.

"I thought I would help," Castiel says in way of explanation. There is very little between them now. Just undergarments -- boxers, Castiel recalls. He lets his hands roam down Dean's back slowly, wanting to memorize the feel of Dean's skin, to learn it like scripture.

* * *

It's such a small thing in the grand scheme, but the knowledge that Dean isn't forcing Jimmy to go through this when he doesn't have a say in the matter is a comfort. Suddenly he isn't touching Cas' borrowed skin. He's touching Cas. It makes a difference in his mind, and a thread of distress unwinds from the tight grip he has on it. Dean's touch is more bold then, less forced, and while the worthlessness in his mind doesn't abate, he can at least chase this now.

And then suddenly their clothes are gone. Dean gives a violent start, his heart jumping into his throat before it slams back down, and he stills with a sharp gasp of something nearing alarm. It takes him all of a few seconds to understand (he can see the clothes on the floor) and the sudden rush of skin visible to him sparks a heat low in his body at the same time that it makes him want to wrench back and run. Fuck, this is real, and Cas has just pulled the rug out from underneath him, but Dean doesn't say it. Because hands are on his back, touching hot and slow and Dean realizes he needs this more than he needs to run.

So he takes advantage. He leans down and his mouth finds Cas' neck. Stubble scrapes against his cheek, his lips, and it sparks that same heat low, making his boxers feel snug as he loses himself in kissing and sucking at warm skin. Cas' skin tastes normal, but there's more to it. There's an undercurrent of energy like being too close to an electric tower and as Dean works his hands under Cas' back and his nails curve to scratch down his shoulder-blades - where he imagines Cas' wings would have been had he been special enough to see them - he breathes him in and hides against him.

He doesn't ask Cas to say 'yes' again. Instead Dean knocks his legs apart and settles between them. Dean can feel the catch of hair against the same on his own leg and it's another reminder and it feels as good as it does wrong.

"Tell me if I do something you don't like," he mutters, scraping a kiss against the hollow of Cas' throat as he leans down enough to press their chests together, his own heartbeat wild.

* * *

His actions have startled Dean. Normally Dean would comment about the use of power, he'd use colorful language, an exasperated tone... But not tonight. Tonight Dean simply physically reacts and no further comments are forthcoming. This alone alerts Castiel that Dean is off, that perhaps this isn't the wisest of actions.

Oh, Castiel _knows_ , he does, but he's not going to stop this. He's committed to this plan. To Dean. He'll try. He'll hope. In the back of his mind, he'll even pray. He _wants_ to help Dean, if he can. He wants to soothe, to ease tension, and Castiel has never known what the right thing to say was, but perhaps he can do this.

Suddenly Dean's mouth is at his neck. Castiel doesn't understand how such a simple thing can feel so good, but it does. A gasp escapes Castiel's mouth as he tilts his head away to allow better access to his throat. Dean's lips are warm and although the sensation may be new, there's a layer of _rightness_ to it all, to the feel of bare skin against his own. Perhaps this is why humans partake, not simply for pleasure, but for the feeling of good and right that comes along with it.

Dean's hands come underneath his torso, nails scratching along shoulder blades and Castiel has the odd thought that the touch is purposeful.

Perhaps he's been around humans too long and physical responses are unconscious, but Castiel feels his heart pick up when Dean spreads his legs and settles on top of him. Castiel's hands press Dean in close -- they should be closer, is his thought. The concerned remark sent his way has Castiel opening his mouth without thought.

"I don't think you could," Castiel replies and he's somewhat surprised at how breathless his voice sounds. He runs his hands up and down Dean's back in what he hopes is a comforting action. Castiel knows enough in this pursuit. He knows that arching his pelvis up should feel good for genital stimulation. So he does the motion and is rewarded with a pleasant jolt. A soft curious moan follows when he repeats the action.

* * *

It strikes Dean with every reaction that Castiel has never done this before. The simple action of kissing his neck has Castiel reacting and it sends a jolt through Dean that he feels breathless over. It's fucked up. If this - sleeping with a guy - is wrong on a cosmic level then how fucked up is Dean right now? More than that, because despite how wrong it is, he doesn't stop. He doesn't ask Castiel to find a female vessel, because Dean _likes_ the strength in Castiel's hands, the rough, gravelly sound of his voice and every soft sound through that filter. Besides, this is Cas' body now. Dean comforts himself with that.

Fuck, does it feel good. It's so fucking wrong, but it doesn't stop it from being good. Castiel's hands are softer than they should be, Dean thinks, but they'll work on that if they live. Cas will grow calluses that Jimmy never could with his cushy 9-to-5 but for now the contrast is enough to spark fire under Dean's skin. Cas touches him, strokes hands along his back, and Dean loses himself in the exploration, in finding where Cas likes to be touched the most while also burying his head in the sand.

It's a good plan. Or it is until Cas suddenly lifts his hips up. Dean feels a slide of heat and hardness against his dick and the knowledge of what it is overshadows the spark of pleasure gained from it. The soft moan that Castiel lets out obliterates everything. Dean feels ragged and worn, and he's absolute shit for this, but it's too late now.

He groans a rougher sound and reaches down to hook a hand around one of Cas' thighs. He feels muscle and power and _fuck_ if he doesn't need this. Hitching Cas' leg higher, Dean angles their hips just so, and when he grinds down, it's not the soft, curious movement that Castiel's hips had tried. It's purposeful, hot, and Dean feels the spark burn hot as his nails dig into Cas' skin.

"Fuck, Cas," Dean groans roughly. He surges in again and presses his lips hotly to Castiel's chest. There's no swell of breasts, no hands in his hair jerking him down to kiss and suck nipples tight with arousal, but Dean does it anyway. Cas' nipples are smaller and tighter but fuck if Dean doesn't close his lips around one just the same.

* * *

Castiel wants to know Dean. Castiel wants to know what troubles him (even though he likely won't know what to say if it were to be revealed). Dean may need this, but Castiel has the strange pinprick of a realization that Dean may not _want_ this. There is a vein of something anguished within Dean and Castiel wishes to snuff it out of existence. He's doing this to help Dean... but what if this harms him in the process? It's a perilous problem that Castiel is unequipped for.

And then the problem is like smoke curling away when Dean moves, taking action and touching his leg, hauling it up higher and Castiel obeys. He quickly realizes it's a better angle for genital stimulation. Castiel is breathing rougher when Dean grinds down into him. He's aware of steadily gaining an erection from all of this, blood filling his cock and becoming firmer in the process. It's a strange feeling, the heaviness and the constriction of fabric, but Dean rubbing against him is nothing short of divine.

The curse Dean gives is far from divine, but the tone of Dean's voice makes up for it. Having an effect on Dean, being apart of this, is far more gratifying than Castiel could have ever imagined. He wants _more_ of this, he wants, he wants, he wants... (and it's _terrifying_ ).

Wet suction is suddenly around one of his nipples - Dean's mouth - and Castiel writhes. It's a very curious sensation, ticklish (he thinks that's the word) and yet Castiel doesn't wish it to stop.

"Dean..." Castiel groans out. He repeats the name again, the one name that has feels like a brand against his own soul if he were to have one. Perhaps his Grace. Perhaps Dean's influence and touch have reached that far. Castiel's hand travels to cover the scar left behind, his own imprint on Dean.

* * *

It's 'just sex' but Dean knows the excuse is bullshit before it even makes it to his lips. It's not just sex. Between them, it couldn't be, but Dean can't let himself think about that right now. He can't dwell on what Castiel deserves, because if he goes down that road, he stays there, and right now, as selfish and cowardly as it is, Dean just wants to forget. He wants to escape the pressure and the stress and the fucking _endless_ guilt. He wants to escape the blame and the nightmares and the memory of the people he's failed.

So he throws himself into this, into Cas, into his writhing and the groans so rough that Dean swears he could cut himself on them. He tries to tell himself that it's a willing body arching and shivering under him, but he knows it's not just that. And fuck, he's so fucking worthless, but when Castiel groans his name, he doesn't feel like he is, if just for that second. Dean curses violently under his breath and bites, sucking, doing what he can to leave a mark that he doubts will last.

Then suddenly Castiel is lifting his own hand, traveling across his skin, and Dean doesn't know what he's doing until he feels a spark of white-hot sensation against his shoulder and he understands. Dean glances to the side sharply and marvels when he notes the perfect fit. Cas' hand covers the mark on his shoulder precisely and Dean gasps so sharply that it almost sounds like a sob.

"Keep-- ... keep your hand there," he grinds out. It's supposed to be a command, but it comes out as a plea. He ignores it, and when he locks away the part of his mind that immediately yells its protest, Dean suddenly slides a hand between them. He doesn't think as he cups his hand around the thick outline of Castiel's cock and he leans in to press his face to Cas' neck, biting and sucking as Dean rubs him slow.

"Don't mojo the rest of our clothes off," he says, thick and gruff. "I wanna do it." He owes Castiel _that_ much at least.

* * *

It's more than physical sensations for Castiel. He may be feeling overwhelmed by the slide of skin, the feel of Dean's warmth, the press of his groin and arousal into his own and the sensitive wetness around his nipple... But the nearness of Dean, the closeness of his _soul_ is what has Castiel enraptured. He doesn't know for certain if his actions are a _sin_ (but given other angels disregard for humans, this is likely not allowed), but Castiel feels like he's been pointed down this direction for quite some time. He has no plans of getting off of this road ( _could_ he even?).

His hand on Dean's shoulder feels exquisitely _right_. It's a perfect fit, of course. His fingers lining up and Dean makes an almost pained sound that has Castiel worried until Dean tells him not to move it.

Castiel obeys. He presses his hand firmly to Dean. Castiel feels like Dean is giving him a reward for his obedience when a hand comes to rub against his clothed erection. Castiel's eyes flutter shut, his hips twitching up into Dean's hand as he groans from the slight contact. It's both not enough and too much. He's unconsciously uttering Dean's name out again, a litany of praise for the words he knows Dean could never handle. When Dean's mouth descends on his neck, Castiel's attention is split. And then another command comes and Castiel nods. His other hand comes to rub up to the back of Dean's head, his fingers running through short hair.

"I would like you to do that, Dean," Castiel confirms. To his understanding, communication is important in this.

* * *

The one thing Dean will allow himself is that he's not a selfish asshole here. He might need this, he might be using Cas in one way, but he's not _using_ him, for all the difference that makes. He's not making the guy's pleasure second to his own. Dean's a fucking good lover when he's got his head on straight and regardless of how worthless he feels, he's not going to compromise that. He's already forcing the guy's first time to be artless and rough, but Dean's going to make sure he at least enjoys it. Castiel is owed that much.

He shivers when Castiel's hand slides up and his fingers run through Dean's hair. He likes it; he's always liked having his hair played with, and women seem to like the feeling of it. Apparently so does Cas, but Dean cuts the thought off right there. He's already got his hand on another guy's dick, on an _angel's_ dick. It's enough blasphemy for one day, for a whole fucking lifetime, but Dean's still going to take this further. And he's going to do it now, before he chickens out completely.

"Hold on," Dean says, and he doesn't know when he's gotten so fucking breathless, but he is now.

Dean's hand slides up then and he doesn't waste time in starting to pull Cas' boxers down. He gets all of a few inches down before a thought occurs and he slows down. No. Not quick. Dean inwardly kicks himself.

"Just- fuck, I'm sorry, man. Let go for just a second."

Dean's loath to lose the connection to his shoulder, but he needs to be on his knees for this. He sits back on them when he's allowed, and though he keeps his eyes down and though his expression looks focused and more serious than it should, Dean takes _care_ when his hands find Castiel's hips.

Hooking his fingers under the waistband of Castiel's boxers, Dean presses his hands down on the fabric and he slowly slides them down. If he can't be gentle about anything else, he's going to do it here. Dean works the fabric down slow, and when it's low enough that he can get a good look at Cas' cock, Dean swallows past a rush of nerves (and something else) and finishes. He drops the boxers down over the side of the bed and then leans back over Cas, wrapping his fingers slowly around his bare cock. It's all heat and hardness and Dean hates himself a little more, but _he's_ the one to shiver when he gives it a stroke.

"You okay, man?"

* * *

It's more than an indulgence of the flesh. Castiel knows this. He may not know what all plagues Dean (or how to truly help him), he may not know how to stop Lucifer and he may not know God's face, but he knows this is more than lust.

He's seen Dean's busty Asian beauties on the screen, and while he can concede their physical beauty, Castiel had felt little desire to do anything sexual about it. There have always been aesthetically pleasing humans, but it's Dean who Castiel feels drawn to. It's Dean who he is going to reach back to.

It's Dean who is now working on disrobing him further, on exposing his nakedness. Castiel looks up and watches him with interest. Dean starts fast, but then slows. Castiel's eyes are wide, his mouth parted and there's a slight flush to his cheeks. When prompted to break the connection with Dean, Castiel's eyebrows draw in. He complies a moment later, understanding that Dean needs to move.

Dean sits back and Castiel's head lifts off the bed to better watch. The boxers are slid down slowly, but not all the way off. His erection is freed, hard flesh jutting out, but Castiel only has eyes for Dean. Dean finishes the job, the garment being dropped off the side of the bed. The feeling of Dean's hand has Castiel's head falling back on the bed and his body tensing as he tries to process this new intimacy. It takes him a little longer to answer the question posed to him.

"It's... It's good, Dean," Castiel murmurs. He takes a deep steadying breath before his hands come to Dean's shoulders. They squeeze before sliding up to frame Dean's face. "Look at me."

* * *

It's tempting to drop the guilt for a moment, to wrap himself in the way this feels instead. He can allow himself a break, can't he? But the moment Dean considers it, something darker wrenches its way through his chest and he swallows back anything else he feels. Instead he leans back down over Cas and braces himself on his free arm, working his hand between them. Castiel's dick is hot and hard in his hand but Dean makes himself think about it in the abstract. He may not want to think about this, may not want to need it, but he's got it and he's not going to be a douchebag about this.

Still, when Cas' hands slide up from his shoulders to his face and that soft, breathless request makes itself known, Dean feels himself tense. _Look at me_ is dangerous. Dean's jaw works steadily as he clenches it, struggling with himself and what he wants and what he shouldn't want. It's almost enough to make him drop the whole goddamned thing. But if this is all Cas is going to ask for, what kind of asshole would he be to deny it? He's tense and guilt is etched cleanly into his skin, but after swallowing a few times, Dean draws in a deeper breath and does what Cas asks. He looks.

 _Fuck_ his eyes are blue... Just like that, it's real. It's not just a body, it's not just a fantasy, it's _Castiel_ on the cheap sheets, naked, his eyes fucking blue and his face just flushed enough that Dean can make it out in the dark. Dean feels his mouth go dry, feels his throat stick when he tries to swallow, and he knows he's got to look stricken but he can't help it.

Maybe the world is falling apart (no 'maybe', actually, it really is) and maybe everyone's looking to him to know what the Hell to do, but Castiel is just looking at him, just touching him, and maybe it's not that wrong to let himself have this, if just for now.

(It is wrong. Dean doesn't want it to be.) He looks, his breath catches for a second, and then Dean lets out a soft curse and reaches down, hastily shoving his own boxers down. He kicks them off artlessly and leans in again, and when he takes Castiel's cock back in his hand, it's with his own rubbing hot and silken against it.

"Fuck, Cas..."

* * *

They have been through much together. A journey filled with many dangerous curves and their destination not even on the horizon. Castiel is not the same being he was when they had met and neither is Dean Winchester. Nothing has ever been simple or guaranteed for them. The fate of the world is unknown, it's a perilous fight for them all, and yet at this moment, Castiel's focus is solely on Dean. Castiel's world _is_ Dean. (And it's terribly _selfish_ \-- it's not how he _used_ to be. Once obedient, but now not so much. Now he's rebelled for this one human. And Castiel knows he'd do it again.)

The burden they carry, the uncertainty... it matters not. Not right now. Dean's touch. Dean's skin. Dean's smell. It all fills Castiel's senses, a nourishment that he never knew he needed before. Until now. Until this. (And Castiel knows it's not merely because of the genital stimulation, it's Dean's nearness. His closeness. While it's pleasurable, Castiel knows he doesn't need gratification this way, the orgasm... it's not so important.)

His request has Dean's body tensing. He can feel the muscles clench. Castiel doesn't understand why as they've shared eye contact before numerous times. Castiel wants to see Dean's face. He wants to see _Dean_ \-- all of him. Castiel starts to wonder if he's taken a misstep in asking for this, but then Dean does look at him.

Dean does not look awed by this. Dean looks... in pain almost. Emotional pain because Castiel can't sense physical pain on Dean. Castiel feels a pang of hurt, but his expression remains neutral. He knows that Dean has lost much, that Dean is suffering (always suffering, despite that smile, despite that carefree attitude, Dean is suffering. If Castiel could heal him of it, he _would,_ God help him, he would.)

Castiel licks his lips as he watches Dean make quick work of his own boxers. Both naked now, Castiel shudders when Dean's touch returns -- but this time Dean's own erection is pressed against his. It's an added sensation, another closeness for them and Castiel feels hot pleasure pool in his groin as Dean strokes them both. Castiel's head raises again, he watches. He breathes. He then surges up, his hands holding Dean's head still and Castiel can't help but kiss Dean, because he knows kissing is a show of affection, of _love_ and Castiel is pretty sure he loves Dean Winchester.

* * *

Every touch of Dean's hand is too much and not enough because he shouldn't be doing this but he can't help but crave it. He can feel the hot pressure of Castiel's cock against his own, the ridge of the head as it catches against the callused span of his palm, every silken slide that has Dean's breath catching and his hips aching to thrust. He doesn't. He keeps himself as still as he can with the exception of his hand as it works them both, hand stretched so wide that his fingers can't close over the both of them. It's such a different sensation, a different sight, and Dean hates that he needs it.

But he hates the fact that he needs to look at Castiel even more. Castiel's eyes are so fucking wide and blue, the iris dark in lust, and Dean can feel a traitorous warmth surge inside. It's the same warmth he feels when Castiel grabs his shoulder, when his hand slots over the hand print scar there. It's the same warmth he feels when Castiel puts a hand on his shoulder on those cold, forlorn evenings when Dean feels like he's going to fall apart. And it's the same warmth he feels when he hears the flutter of invisible wing beats in the air when he's in trouble.

If only it had made a difference this time. If only Cas had been able to help. If only... If only Dean had been good enough. Strong enough. Fast enough. Just _enough_. God knows he's not. If God even exists, he knows Dean will never be good enough. That's why Dean is here, naked, adding another fuck-up to his list of sins. And that's why Dean doesn't notice Castiel's touch on his face soften until it's too late. That's why he's so in his own head that he doesn't notice Castiel leaning in until he feels the dry press of lips against his own.

He freezes, his eyes snapping open. Immediately Dean struggles against drawing back. The urge to wrench himself away, to shove Castiel back on the bed and go for the door is almost overwhelming. But there's a dark, twisted part of him that craves this. Dean's torn, like he hasn't imagined what it might be like to kiss Castiel before. Like he hasn't fucking ached to find out if Castiel's lips are as chapped and real as they look. Dean's eyes slide closed as he fights with himself, but in the end he's just not strong enough. He makes a soft, almost wounded sound in the back of his throat and when he surges into the kiss and _takes_ there's nothing gentle about it. He kisses back roughly, all scraping stubble and teeth and desperation.

* * *

Castiel hadn't intended for it to happen, but Dean had laughed after his failure with Chastity. He would like to see that easy smile again on Dean's face, but Castiel has never been humorous. Castiel hopes his body - this connection they are forging - may be a balm for Dean's sorrows. Perhaps he can soothe just a little, perhaps he can relieve an ache, even if it's only for a short duration. He has to try, at least. Dean deserves a measure of peace, a respite from anguish and pain and Castiel wishes, with every molecule that makes up this form, that he could offer Dean such a gift. (Castiel believes that no other human, no other man, is more deserving of such a thing.)

God has asked much from Dean Winchester. Dean does not possess the same faith as he, but Dean presses on despite it. Though he may suffer and be tested, though he may feel weak and fail, Dean soldiers on.

Castiel loves him for it. Castiel knows God's love. Castiel can understand love for God's creations, but the warmth that he feels expanding in his chest is entirely something else, something different.

It's both hope and fear. It's longing and a sense of wonderment that another could feel so vital to him, as if Dean found a way to be a part of his Grace. It's a feeling Castiel wants to safeguard to protect.

So, Castiel drinks in every sensation Dean gives to him. The exquisite drag of Dean's hand, the rough feel of calluses... Castiel experiences and _lives_ instead of merely existing and observing. He knows he must kiss Dean - he must show this - so he does. He cradles Dean's head, for Dean is precious. Castiel does not press hard or fast.

Although he can sense the hesitancy in Dean, Castiel commits and keeps his lips over Dean's. There's a sound that Dean makes - something that hurts Castiel to hear - but then Dean is reciprocating.

It's rough, Dean's mouth insistent and forceful and Castiel allows this it. There's saliva, and teeth and tongue and Castiel's mouth is pliant and he mimics Dean's actions. While it's _good_ , he doesn't want fast and rushed. He wants to savor Dean, so Castiel pulls away while making a soothing sound.

"Let me," Castiel says. His hands hold Dean's face still as he connects their mouths again briefly. Anytime Dean attempts to push, Castiel breaks away. He kisses along Dean's jaw, his hands moving to grip further back as he kisses Dean's face everywhere. This is worship for him.

* * *

Rough, passionate, forceful, detached. It's safe to think of this moment under those terms. Maybe Dean's committing the biggest fucking sin of his life but at least it's not worse. At least he's not savoring it. He's taking what he needs, what they both need (or so he tells himself) and he's determined to keep that distance between them, to hide safely behind the shroud of something base and _just sex_ but Dean isn't really surprised when it changes.

Cas may not have said the words but he doesn't have to; every fucking time he touches Dean, it becomes more apparent and Dean hates himself a little more. He doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve this break after what he'd failed to do. He doesn't deserve to feel better.

If he'd been quicker... If he'd noticed the Hellhounds sooner... if he'd ever done more than treat Jo like a kid sister, then maybe...

Anguish seeps into his skin like a brand as he throws everything he has into the kiss. Castiel's lips are hot - hotter than most, because he's not human, because there's a fucking _angel_ in that skin - and Dean wants to lose himself in them. He wants this quick, detached. And so when Cas breaks the kiss and his hands hold Dean's face as he makes his request, Dean feels a sinking in his stomach. He doesn't even know what Castiel's angle is, but he knows it'll be too much. And it is.

Cas kisses him again, but it's different. Instead of rough and biting and almost violent, it's soft and sweet, exploring. Panic sparks, panic and a bitter wish he could just let it happen, but Dean tries so damn hard to switch it back up. He tries to bite but Cas just stops him and draws back. Each time Dean tries to change things around, Cas patiently pulls back, and only when Dean is tired of fighting does he kiss him again.

Each kiss is so slow, so soft. Dean feels shivers cut through his spine and the softer Castiel kisses him, the more it hurts. Loathing curls, a tension vibrating under Dean's skin, but Castiel's lips press everywhere. His forehead, the tip of his nose, over each eyelid, down to his lips. It's a flood of gentleness that leaves Dean feeling raw. Worse than that, he doesn't know what it is, but the kisses to his eyelids, the fucking _reverence_ there suddenly sparks a different heat. It's a hot, thick burning in his throat, a stinging behind his eyes, and it's that - the knowledge that he's going to fucking break down if he can't stop this - that does him in.

His lower lip is trembling, his breathing hitched, and when Dean finally finds his voice, it's rough and broken. "Cas, I-- Can I fuck you? Please." The last word is desperate, because he can't handle this. He can't handle _care_ and Cas kissing him like he loves him. He aches to sink into it because it'd be so easy to let himself have the care, but he doesn't deserve it.

* * *

Although Dean refuses to break or back down, Castiel knows this man has a fragility about him. Humans, while resilient, are also delicate. Like the folded origami creations Castiel has seen, his Father lovingly crafted his humans... but they can be crushed easily -- both in spirit and in body.

Dean is still all-too mortal. He bleeds, his bones can break, his heart... Castiel knows all things have a season and Dean's life on this Earth is one of them. He's never begrudged this fact _before_ ; he knows that it's fair. He may still know that, but now it _feels_ like some slight against him. It feels like it's a fate Castiel would fight to prevent, a cause he'd willingly take up. (He knows, he _knows_ , yes, he knows, but he needs--)

He cherishes Dean _now_. Castiel holds his head securely and kisses him gently. His mouth travels over Dean's skin, learning, exploring, savoring. He doesn't have the words - he's never been good with such a thing - so he lets his actions speak. Perhaps they will be enough.

But despite his intention, his kisses do not soothe. Castiel can see the cracks, can see Dean _suffering_ still. His love does not mend.

But Dean wishes to couple with him. Castiel understands this. Castiel pulls away, his hold on Dean's head relaxing.

"Yes, you may." He gives his consent. Consent is always important and this... This was never supposed to be about him, about his selfish desires. This is about Dean.

* * *

It's all Dean can think of to stop the damn, slow kissing. It's artless and Castiel deserves so much fucking more than this, but Dean doesn't have it in him to give. Has he ever? Cheap, quick fucks in dozens of motel rooms, picking up women at bars... doesn't matter that he's a good fuck. He's not usually selfish. He usually takes his time, but he can't this time. He might be hard, their cocks hot and heavy in his hand, but the urge to collapse against Castiel, bury his face against his shoulder, and clutch him so close he can't breathe is so damn appealing that it's not funny. Comfort over sex... it's like a dog choosing not to eat. Dean'll be damned if he lets himself be that weak.

If Castiel notices that Dean's eyes are too bright, or notices the thickness in his voice, he doesn't point it out. Dean's grateful. And though the ache of _wrong_ rears its head again, Castiel still gives his consent and Dean at least has that. He moves before he can talk himself out of it, drawing back so that he can lean over Cas and grope for the dresser drawer. He yanks it open and finds his bottle of lube and a roll of condoms that he doesn't really need, but it's an extra barrier. It's one more step removed.

He lets go of their dicks then in favor of leaning back on his heels. He's already got the cap of the lube open and his fingers nice and wet (he's done this with a few women in the past, when they'd asked him to) but he realizes the issue the moment he looks down at Cas.

Dean doesn't want to look. He doesn't want to see, or acknowledge just how far he's fallen, how far _Castiel_ is willingly falling for him. He's already cut off from Heaven, already struggles to preserve his power. Dean has nightmares of the drugged-out devotion he'd seen, he doesn't want to go down that road even more but like this, looking down at flushed skin and Castiel's hard dick and the inviting way his legs are spread, Dean doesn't feel like he has a choice. He looks, he aches, the memory of the goddamn kisses feel like hot iron against his skin, and when he reaches between them again to move down and press a finger to where Cas is hot and tight, Dean makes himself meet Castiel's eyes.

"I'll go slow," he promises. He can promise that much at least, and he does. When he presses in, when his finger begins to work into Cas' ass in small thrusts, Dean doesn't go quickly. He's not that much of an asshole.

* * *

This new intimacy... Castiel has an understanding of the procedure necessary for such an undertaking. And while he knows he can take the discomfort and could even use his powers to get rid of the need altogether, Castiel believes trying to be _human_ in this is important. With Dean, he wants to experience this ritual from start to finish. (Selfishness? Yes, this must be selfishness. A seed planted, it spreads its roots.)

Dean, as per his behavior this night, wastes no time in retrieving the necessary supplies. Castiel sees the condoms, he knows their purpose and he knows they're not necessary right now...

 _Necessary_... He's used the word a lot, perhaps it's Castiel who doesn't understand its meaning. Perhaps he actually knows very little when it comes to Dean Winchester. _His_ charge, his mission, his human, the one he rebelled for. He may love, he may think it's love, but love does not mean he will do the right thing. Love guarantees nothing.

But Castiel spreads his legs for Dean. He will allow this, he will try for Dean, he will try, try, try. (And he wants, wants, wants. This greed, this desire to touch and know Dean in every way, they're roots wrapped around his heart. It's terrifying and yet Castiel cannot turn away.)

A slick digit is pressed to his opening and Castiel breathes deeply. He searches out Dean's eyes and Dean promises to go slow. Castiel has no concerns about speed, but he nods his understanding. And then the finger breaches him, an odd pressure, but the lubricant facilitates such an intrusion. Castiel squirms a little, his hands splaying out against the motel sheets as he bears this. It's a strange sensation to notice the eventual easing of tightness, how Dean's finger slides further in. Castiel shudders.

"It is... Oddly intense to be felt and known in such a way," he comments.

* * *

This is what Dean needs. He thinks this is what they both need, but he's been wrong before. Despite everything, despite the spiraling darkness in his heart, this is the one thing he makes a point to _not_ rush. Even when he's had quick fucks with women, Dean's always made sure they can take him. Fingers to test, sometimes a mouth. He's good with his mouth. He likes to hear the way he can get his partners to moan, sometimes to scream. He likes the claw of manicured nails against his scalp, likes the sting that lingers for days when he does it right. So even now, so lost in his own guilt and his own pain over what he'd been too damn worthless to prevent, it doesn't change Dean's base nature.

So he doesn't rush. He wants to; he wants to look away from how fucking blue Cas' eyes look like this. He wants to close his own eyes against the reverence he can see, because Castiel doesn't get it. He's not worth reverence. He doesn't know what the fuck he's doing.

This was their main shot. The Colt failed, Lucifer is alive, and Ellen and Jo... And still they're looking to him for answers. The Michael Sword. Some ancient dickbag prophecy and suddenly he's heading the show. Sam and his emotions, his desperation to do good, to have Dean trust him. Bobby, crippled, desperate, looking to him silently. And then there's Cas. Cas, who still has some fucking hope, who had been caught and trapped and Dean doesn't fucking blame him. He really doesn't. But he can't be what everyone thinks he should be. It's too much.

He manages to look at Cas for all of a few minutes - long enough to feel the tight, clenching heat relax against one finger and then tighten around two - before he finally has to look away. Dean covers for it well, trying to blank his mind as he leans over Castiel again. Dean doesn't kiss his lips (he can't handle that again) but he does return to Cas' throat. He does kiss his skin, sucking small marks against a powerful throat as Castiel's body fucking burns around his fingers. God, he's never felt heat like this before and it just reinforces what this is. Dean shudders, his cock aching, but it's almost secondary to the realization that he needs this. He needs Cas. And as he starts to fuck him slow with two fingers (a little sloppy, his angle isn't the best) Dean finally breathes a soft curse.

"Fuck, you feel good, man. "

* * *

It's going to be intimate and they're going to be closer than ever. Their bodies will slot together in this sexual pursuit. It will be Castiel's first time doing such a thing. Castiel knows what his flesh desires, and he still _wants_. Of course he wants. He wants Dean, he wants their connection. Dean has roused his body, awoken something, a small flame fanned higher and Castiel wants to huddle around the warmth. It's troubling. It's terrifying. It's exciting. Cut off from heaven, Dean is his life now and Castiel knows that his faith applies to Dean too.

Dean's finger works into him slowly and carefully -- like Dean had promised. Castiel's body is accepting and he watches Dean with interest through this activity. Castiel is completely naked and bearing everything for Dean with no shame. Castiel breathes and he adjusts, both mentally and physically to what is occurring. Another finger is added and there's a degree of discomfort following, of a resistant tightness but Castiel soldiers on. He doesn't complain. _Necessary_... This is necessary.

But green eyes do eventually look away and Castiel feels a tightness in chest when Dean breaks their connection. Dean's mouth comes to his throat and Castiel lets his head fall back and he turns it this way and that way to allow Dean better access to his throat and neck. Castiel first does nothing but close his eyes and shudder under a skilled mouth as fingers stretch him open, but his hands are soon lifting to touch Dean's back again. Castiel grunts as the fingers pushing into him begin to pick up the pace -- a mere hint of what's going to be coming soon enough. Blunt nails dig into Dean's shoulder blades as an anticipatory pleasure grows. Dean's comment... Now Dean's comment has Castiel groaning and then near-growling out Dean's name, his hips shifting a little back on Dean's fingers.

"Your fingers feel good," Castiel shudders out, his hands roaming over Dean's back, nails scraping occasionally before his fingertips push into muscle. "Dean... you needn't be slow or gentle. I will not break."

* * *

Castiel isn't just laying there, greedy, though Dean wouldn't have faulted him had he chosen it. Castiel isn't used to this. He doesn't know how to react. But he hasn't seemed to get the memo, because Cas writhes gently under him, each breath a punch of air (that he doesn't need, because he's not human) and Dean feels it claw deep into his bones. He swears he can feel the Enochian etched into his ribs flare some days, particularly when they're close. Like this, feeling Castiel's searing heat around his fingers and listening to every breath and soft grunt that escapes Castiel, Dean knows he could lose himself in this if he just let himself. He wants to. He wants this, but he hates it in equal measure.

This is his proof that he's given up. It's something he's thought about before, but Castiel is... he's _Cas_. He's untouchable. He's a fucking angel and Dean hadn't ever been going to go down this road. Sure he'd thought about it but his thoughts had been safe. Fantasies, simple. But now he's taken it further. He's asked; he's broken the barriers down, and he can feel Castiel around his fingers. He can feel the heat and the ache and he knows it'll feel amazing wrapped around his dick. Physically, it's amazing. Mentally... he's not going there. He can't.

Still, he's not strong enough to ignore the way Castiel's nails dig into his back. Dean hisses; he likes it. It's a shade of praise, proof that Cas likes this as much as Dean does, and he's going to keep the pace like this. He's going to take his time and force this slow because it's what Castiel deserves. But then Cas' voice - fucking rough and gravelly and pure sex - sounds and Dean feels like Cas has just taken a sledgehammer to his self-control. He groans, a rough, wounded sound, and his teeth catch over the slightly-salty skin of Castiel's throat as he fights with himself.

In the end, he does pick up the pace. He does fuck Cas a little quicker with his fingers. He presses in to his knuckles, mindful of how rough the calluses on his fingers are, and when he fumbles awkwardly for more lube and slicks a third, he moves faster than he should. He begins too quickly and then catches himself with a soft curse, almost apologetic. The closer he gets to actually doing this, the more terrified he is, and the more he needs it. Three fingers in and Dean can't believe Cas hasn't shoved him across the room by now.

"How can this be okay?" He asks, his voice hoarse. He doesn't really want an answer, but the words just slip out without his say-so. "Fuck, Cas, you shouldn't be letting me--...God, but I'm glad you are."

* * *

It's a slow, torturous affair. Dean's fingers are thick inside of him, pushing in and then retreating, and then repeating the motion. Dean is learning him, careful ministrations to prepare him for greater intimacy.

And Castiel would like for this moment to stretch on, for Dean to take his time, for them to thoroughly enjoy and bask in this indulgence together. But he hasn't forgotten how Dean was unable to tolerate the slow, reverent kissing. He remembers how Dean had averted his eyes...

So, Castiel believes that quicker may be better. It's not what he wants, but perhaps it's what Dean needs and this is about Dean. This is _for_ Dean. So, he reassures Dean that he can take it, that he can handle it not being gentle.

An outlet. Sex can be used as a distraction, as a method to vent and cope. It's doesn't have to be about procreation or a connection of something _deeper_... Ah. It makes sense now. It does. Castiel _should_ have known better. Ellen and Jo have died. He'd been unable to be of any real use against Lucifer, trapped by a ring of holy fire.

He'll help Dean now. Castiel closes his eyes and wills himself to be pliant, to stay relaxed. He pushes his realization aside; it's not important. Dean's fingers move faster. It's all heightened sensations, an intensity that he can't ignore, and Castiel gasps as another slick finger plunges in. It's not too much, but it's still a frisson of burning as his body attempts to accommodate the stretch. He holds onto Dean, his hands are firm. He doesn't take nor does he seek more. He will accept what Dean gives to him.

Dean's words... It sounds like one of those questions that Dean doesn't want an answer for. (Castiel does know Dean a little.)

"You can take me now," Castiel murmurs. Quick. Quick for Dean. A vessel for Dean's grief... Castiel will take it. If Dean hurts him, he will bear it.

* * *

The admission is out before Dean can take it back but Castiel doesn't say anything. Maybe he doesn't realize what Dean had said or maybe he's just being kind and pretending not to notice, but either way Dean finds himself grateful. He doesn't need to drag Cas into these depths with him but here he is. They're both in this together and regardless of how much Dean deserves this, Castiel is giving it to him. Giving _himself_ to Dean. Dean doesn't deserve half this much.

He didn't deserve Castiel following him from Bobby's, with Sam's concerned, weary voice calling after him. He didn't deserve Cas refusing to leave him the hell alone, even when Dean had threatened him. And he didn't deserve Castiel offering... this.

But here they are. Castiel's body is hot and tight, the rippling clench of his muscles like sin around Dean's fingers. Dean's mouth is quick, his lips and teeth just shy of desperate on Cas' throat and he fucks him gentle but quick with his fingers. Dean doesn't give himself permission to think too much, and when Cas tells him he's ready, Dean only hesitates for a second before he takes Cas' word for it.

"Yeah," Dean manages, distracted and breathless. He eases back on his heels and slides his fingers free of Castiel's ass. It makes opening the condom hard. Dean fumbles it a few times before getting fed up enough to rip the foil with his teeth. He rolls it on with a quick, practiced move and grabs the lube again to slick himself up, but just as he looks back down at Castiel and thinks of logistics, he realizes that this... Is different.

He can't fuck Cas like this. As much as Dean wants to feel the rake of nails over his skin, as much as he wants to hurt, he can't risk Cas kissing him again. He can't risk meeting his eyes. He doesn't want to think about what he'd see. He can't stand the idea of pity, or Castiel looking at him and knowing it all. So while Dean's shoulders drop with the realization, it doesn't stop him from swallowing thickly.

"Turn over. It'll... It'll be easier on you that way." Dean's not lying. Not really. But it's not the whole truth and he knows it. "Budge up. Hands and knees. Get comfortable. You're... You're still good?" Dean asks, almost as if he's hoping Cas will say no and put a stop to it. "Need to know."

* * *

Castiel has always known that a special bond between Dean Winchester and himself existed. Even during the beginning when he obeyed without question he knew. It's not something Castiel can fully understand now, it's not something he can quantify, but it's something he feels deeply ingrained within him. Like his faith. It exists and persists and... Perhaps Dean does not feel the same as he feels, but it doesn't change anything for Castiel.

He's now a pariah amidst his brothers and sisters. He's given up everything for this flawed man but Castiel does not regret his choices, for they were _his_ to make. Castiel does not begrudge Dean.

When Dean retreats, Castiel's eyes open. He looks up at the stained ceiling in this tiny motel room with them in bed and he waits for Dean's next instructions. He does not search for Dean's eyes and he does not reach out.

Sex as an outlet. A vessel to contain Dean's grief. These words repeat in Castiel's mind. His own mantra to remind himself of his purpose at this moment. Castiel registers the sound of the condom wrapper being pulled apart. He can visualize Dean fitting on the contraceptive, one step closer to Dean fitting inside his body. Not necessary for biological protection, yet Dean still uses it, so necessary for Dean's emotional wellbeing...

The instructions come and Castiel does not think to question them. He obeys. He sits up and then promptly gets onto his hands and knees in the middle of the bed. He has no feeling about the position, no shame. Castiel would rather be able to see and have the option to touch Dean, but Dean has requested this and this is for Dean.

"I am still good," Castiel reassures. He gazes at the cheap wood headboard and waits. It might not be everything he wants or _how_ he wants, but Castiel is selfish enough to accept the tiniest of slivers from Dean. (The closeness, the light... Castiel world rather suffer than have naught.)

* * *

There's a small part of Dean that expects Castiel to disobey, or to ask _why_ but he realizes he's not entirely surprised when Castiel just does what Dean had told him to. Dean watches, feeling a wrenching sensation inside. It's arousal, because Cas... Cas looks good, but it's also hopelessness, because even now Cas is still listening to him. Even after Dean had almost torn him a new one about not being there when they'd needed him. Holy fire, he'd said, and Dean's anger had deflated into this deep sense of hopelessness. And despite it all, Cas is still here, still with him, still refusing to leave, and Dean can't even begin to say how little he deserves this.

But he has it. He has a fucking angel on his knees, ready to be fucked. He has Cas' trust even now, and there's a part of Dean that wants to wrench away and leave, but he doesn't. Instead he swallows thickly, looks down the long line of Castiel's back, and shivers. His hips aren't rounded and soft, and there's a definite hardness between his legs where Dean is used to soft and wet, and yet the musculature of his shoulders and arms is so visible, his body strong, and Dean _wants_ even though he shouldn't.

Cas gives him the go ahead, but it still takes Dean a few seconds to really manage more. Yet in the end, with his cock slick and Cas stretched and ready, Dean rises up onto his knees and tries not to notice how even without trying and shifting for positions, Cas is at the perfect level to fuck. There's no fumbling, there's no fussing or further instruction needed. Cas is perfect, and the thought shimmers and then Dean smashes it open before it can solidify into anything else.

He sets a hand on Castiel's back, palm flat and broad, and then he eases in closer, his heart pounding. With his free hand, he braces his cock and lines himself up properly. Already he can feel the heat, the power, and Dean's next breath leaves him on a soft shudder. He bites at the inside of his cheek.

"Try... try to relax for me, man. Just breathe, you're doing great," he promises. And after that single comment, Dean grits his teeth and carefully begins to push. And it's fucking great. Castiel's heat is so much fucking hotter than anyone Dean's ever been with and before Cas has even taken an inch of his dick in, Dean is already groaning softly, already shuddering.

"F-fuck, Cas. C'mon, man..."

* * *

Castiel waits. Much of his existence has been him patiently waiting at times and this is nothing new. He will not rush Dean. He doesn't look back either. He behaves, staring resolutely ahead. He couldn't help when Dean had needed him, but _now_ , now he can. Now he will do whatever he can. He will do this, he will let Dean 'fuck him.'

A hand touches his back and Castiel still does not move. He holds the position. A vessel for Dean's grief because sex can be an outlet and Dean had reached for him and how could Castiel not reach back?

He feels Dean's physical presence near him, his body shuffling closer and taking the necessary position to facilitate coupling. Castiel focuses on the different whorls on the wood on the headboard, but he can't help but feel a shiver travel down his spine as Dean's erection lines up and presses against his body's entrance.

He obeys. Castiel tries to relax and breathe evenly, but then his breath is hitching as Dean breaches him, hardened flesh advancing _into_ him. On a physical level the intrusion feels distinctly uncomfortable -- the stretch more intense than the fingers had been and it burns. But Castiel bears it and he does not try and pull away nor stop it. (On an emotional level, on a spiritual level, Castiel feels a different pain, a cleansing hurt. He will let Dean enter him and have him in any way possible, in all ways. He _wants_ and he _loves_ this man and Castiel has seen love _hurt_ as well.)

Dean's voice is hoarse and beautiful and the encouragement - ' _c'mon man...' -_ well, Castiel can only think that Dean wishes him to push back and take more, so he obeys. His head drops down as he carefully moves back, feeling Dean's erection work its way further inside until Dean's hips hit his buttocks and Castiel marvels at feeling _full_ of Dean. It's intense and overwhelming and Castiel's eyes are squeezed shut as he lowers his head down for his forehead to come and rest on the bed.

"Is it good, Dean?"

* * *

Dean can hear his pulse pounding in his ears and for a second everything else is gone. All he can focus on is Castiel and his body and how fucking hot and tight he is. It's overwhelming in a way that Dean hadn't been expecting and when he urges Cas on, not even he knows what he's asking for until it happens. Maybe it's too soon. He hadn't stretched Cas as well as he should have, but it doesn't seem to matter. Instead of hissing and asking him to stay still, when Dean urges him (to relax, maybe, but he also knows it's a request made of desire) Castiel seems to consider and then shifts. Dean feels him moving under him, feels the flex of muscles under his hand, but he doesn't really know what Cas is doing until he feels the heat press back against his dick.

It's immediately a lot to think about. Dean's gasp is sharp and accidental, torn from his throat. He's done this with women before, but it's never felt this hot before. It's... fuck, it's never felt like this before. Dean's groan feels dragged out of him from the very depths of his core and his nails dig against Castiel's skin as Cas presses back and takes him in slower and deeper. Dean just holds his cock steady and gnashes his teeth against his lower lip, his eyes half-closed, each breath sharp and heavily punctuated.

By the time Cas' ass is against his hips, Dean feels like shaking apart. He moves his hand away from his own dick and sets it on Cas' back with the other one.

"Y-yeah," he manages, groaning tightly. "Fuck, yeah, it's good. Are-- are you okay?"

Even as he says it, he knows the question is stupid. Castiel has literally died before. Having a dick up his ass probably won't even register, but Dean can't help but focus on it, on the sensation, on the fucking heat. Each of his breaths is shaky, not as steady as he wants it to be. He braces his hands on Cas' back, then slides them down to his hips and he's all set to start from there, distant, when another urge hits him. This one he doesn't deny.

He can see the nape of Castiel's neck, the slight curl of his dark hair from the sweat on his skin, and though Dean doesn't think he deserves this, Cas _does_. Dean hisses and does what he can to hold himself still as he leans down and fits his chest along Cas' back. He braces himself on the bed with both hands and then bends, his lips finding the back of Cas' neck. Dean tastes the salt - so human - and presses his rough cheek to it, rolling his hips slowly just once, just to test, and it's good. It's really good.

* * *

It's a fullness that Castiel has never felt before. There may be a slight discomfort, there may be the stretch and the pressure that he knows he needs to relax around and adjust to, but this is _Dean_ gifting him with another very human experience. Castiel feels blessed. Dean had given this to Anna before - sex - and now Dean is giving this to him. Castiel plans on being fully receptive to this gift.

So he tries to relax, breathing deep, breathing evenly and not protesting against the discomfort. It's relatively mild compared to other pain he's felt. Pain by Dean's doing, each and every acute sensation... Castiel wants to commit all of it to memory. This could be the one and only time they partake in this activity (because Castiel has no plans on returning to dens of inequity), so he will cherish this.

Fully sheathed inside, Dean does not begin the 'fucking' yet. Castiel is patient and Dean's answer - his voice - causes a deep satisfaction to curl within Castiel's body. He wants to bring pleasure to Dean (perhaps he can do more than merely be a vessel for grief).

"I'm okay," he reassures, his own voice sounds less steady, but Castiel reasons that it's from the physical strain.

And then Dean is moving, folding over him, his chest pressed to Castiel's back, their bodies slotting together in another way now. The contact has Castiel sighing, shaking from the warmth and comfort of Dean being so very near him. Skin on top of skin, Dean inside... And then lips on the back of his neck - a cheek (almost a caress) - and then Dean moves his hips and Castiel _feels_ him in an entirely new way that has the angel moaning.

Castiel's hands grip the sheets tightly, his eyes closed as he rocks back into Dean appreciatively. Castiel murmurs Dean's name under his breath, a fervent prayer to this human that has touched him in so many different ways.

* * *

In a way Dean knows he's trying to make up for this. Castiel doesn't deserve a dispassionate, emotionless first time. Later, when Dean thinks about what that actually means (first time... First time in thousands of years and Cas is picking _him_ for the honor) he'll likely feel worse about every mistake made here but for now he can't. For now he's stuck in the moment, in his pithy attempt to make amends by pressing along Castiel's back. He can tell immediately by the shiver under him that it's appreciated and he locks that away greedily like it's the one port in a storm that he'll allow himself.

Castiel's voice is low and rough, much rougher than it usually is and Dean files that away too as he rests against Cas' back. He feels the tight clench of muscle around his dick, feels the heat, and when he chances that single roll of his hips, Dean finds himself almost breathless as Castiel moans. It's deep, rough, and he hears the slide of the sheets as Cas grips at them. More than that, he swears he can hear Castiel's voice whispering his name. It sounds soft and wrecked and Dean immediately wants to gather it up and hide it for when someone takes it away from him. He's nowhere near worthy enough to hear an angel gasping his name. Someone will take it back, take it away from him. So like the months starving on the road as a child, Dean wants as much of this as he can handle before it leaves.

It's with that in mind that he groans. Castiel pushes back and he'll take it as a request. Dean curses into the warm skin of Castiel's nape and reaches a hand around to curl around his chest. For a moment Dean is surprised that there are no breasts to hold but he dismisses his muscle memory quickly. Instead he touches Cas' chest, his hand stroking broad and slow, and while it would make more sense to rear back on his knees for a better angle to fuck, he doesn't. He stays where he is and grabs tight at Castiel's body (because he can handle that) and draws his hips back just enough to feel before pushing back in.

The heat is indescribable and the clench is good enough to make Dean gasp. His mind feels fuzzy with it and he murmurs Castiel's name under his breath. Maybe he doesn't deserve to get this, but Cas deserves it. He'd tried. He'll always try. And when Cas is eventually killed again and wrenched away from him, Dean doesn't doubt that it'll be his fault. So he gives what he can. He rolls his hips slow to find what Cas likes best, and every time he finds a good angle, that's where he stays. He's not going to mess this up too.


End file.
